Afterlife
by christikat
Summary: Warning for major character death! Excerpt: Wilson's breathing hitched while his voice dropped to a whispering level, “You're yellow. Oh my God, you're yellow!”


Wilson was startled awake when his hand absentmindedly touched the right side of House's abdomen, eliciting a sharp hiss out of him. With sleep-mussed hair Wilson propped himself up on an elbow, mumbling, "Hey, are you alright?"

"Oh geez, do we have to start the day with you fussing around?"

"It was just a question, you-," Wilson's next words got stuck in his throat, his eyes snapped open in utter shock.

"What? Don't tell me that my appearance doesn't meet with your approval anymore," House teased Wilson.

Wilson's breathing hitched while his voice dropped to a whispering level, "You're yellow. _Oh my God_, you're yellow!"

The dam broke and Wilson scrambled off the bed, shaking himself out of his immovable state. House immediately missed Wilson's body pressed up against him. Wilson rambling about the hospital and what they had to do now didn't get through the fog of disbelief he was in. He always knew that the Vicodin would kill him sooner or later – still, this didn't seem real right now.

What got through to him was the scared expression on Wilson's face, the clumsy movements while he dressed and eventually the desperate squeak of, "_Please_, we have to go to the hospital. You need to be treated _now_!"

Somehow they got House dressed and arrived at the hospital. Miraculously without having an accident on their way; Wilson only killed the engine at every traffic light. With trembling fingers he turned the key again, not even glancing at House, his eyes stayed focused in front of him. Yet, the veil of unshed tears remained clearly visible to House during the whole drive, as was the biting of the lower lip.

The agitated version of Wilson morphed into a resemblance of his normal self at entering the hospital. In less than half an hour House was settled into a bed in the Intensive Care Unit, small tubes filled with blood were on their way to the lab, an appointment for a CT scan was scheduled for in about an hour and he was hooked to an IV drip with fluid, electrolyte and glucose supplementation. An ultrasound was done, revealing nothing good. Worst thing was that Wilson decided to go wherever during the ultrasound.

House's first impulse was to yell at Wilson for leaving him alone when said man came back. House had his mouth already opened but instead of a yell Wilson's name came out as a whisper. Wilson obviously had made a stop in the bathroom and splashed water in his face. His bangs were darker than usual and glistening with moisture. His eyes were glazed and even after having washed his face the tracks of tears weren't fully covered. House slumped back to his pillow with a sigh, scaring Wilson with it. Fortunately it got Wilson to step out and be at his side in a matter of a second.

House mustered up all his strength, lunged at Wilson and pulled him into a fierce embrace. Wilson's arms came up immediately in response; a hoarse sob accompanied it, violent trembles shaking him. House poured all his will and energy at soothing Wilson, wanting to savor the last moments of their shared life.

Wilson's head was pillowed on his chest and House was running his hands up and down his spine, finally settling on holding him in a tight embrace and every now and then hushing him. It took Wilson a while to pull himself together and wiggle his way out of House's embrace. He turned away slightly to wipe away the tears from his face and blow his nose, feeling embarrassed and shallow. _He_ should be comforting _House; _it shouldn't be the other way around. Without looking House in the eye he croaked, "I … I'm sorry."

House took his face in his hands, tipped Wilson's chin and with it forced him to look at him. He deadpanned, "That wasn't the first time you soaked my shirt with your tears. I'm already used to it."

Wilson's eyebrows knitted together on their own volition but the indignant reply which was on the tip of his tongue never made its way out. Instead he squeezed a small smile out, nuzzled his cheek even more in the warmth of House's hand and allowed his eyes to shut.

When he opened his eyes again he swallowed hard, then said, "I went to speak with Cuddy and someone from the transplantation committee. They … they didn't want to put you on the list." His voice broke and he needed some time to continue, "I got you on the list but you're not the first on it."

House blinked, "You got me on the list? That's impossible!"

Wilson only answered with a shrug of his shoulders, "No, it's not."

"How did you do that?"

"You don't want to know."

"I beg to differ! I _do_ want to know how you did that," House exclaimed with curiosity written all over his face.

"I won't tell you and I wasn't really successful. I wanted you to be the first one on the list," Wilson choked out behind a hand on his mouth, desperately trying not to break down and unload his fears on House again.

House put Wilson's hands in his own and demanded, "Look at me! James, we knew that this would happen."

"And that makes it better now? That we knew it all along? That the time we had was only borrowed? Or is it because you're finally able to kill yourself – albeit doing it slowly over many years?"

As soon as the words had left his mouth Wilson regretted what he had said in anger and fear. Guilt and embarrassment fought for the upper hand, finally being overpowered by utter shame. With deeply red flourished cheeks he eventually plucked up enough courage to look at House, almost sobbing when he saw the transfixed expression on House's face.

"I'm sorry. So sorry," he whispered, "I didn't mean what I said. _I'm sorry_!"

"No, you meant exactly what you said," House accused him, leaving Wilson shivering with a nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Do you honestly believe that I _want_ to die? I didn't do anything … stupid for the last _eight_ years!"

"I'm sorry, really! It just slipped out and … and I don't want to give up. Maybe the CT will show us that it's not that bad," Wilson was stammering and trying very hard to suppress the sobbing.

"James, _I'm yellow_. We both know the result from the CT in advance. There is no hope."

House couldn't stop his own eyes from filling with tears and swallowing hard against the hurting lump in his throat. The vision of his own death didn't leave him untouched. There might have been a time where he was looking forward to it and even searching for a death-experience; but those times were long gone. No, they didn't lie on a bed of roses and there were times when he believed that James would leave him or where he wanted to strangle the younger man. Yet, the fights became less and less in their frequency and especially the last two years were really good years for them. They had found a way to get this thing between them to work. He had been content; to a certain degree he had been happy, _incredibly happy_.

Silencing Wilson with a finger on his lips he repeated, "James, stop it! We both know the result from the CT. There is no palliating; my liver is dead and so will I be in a few hours."

This got him a hoarse sob from Wilson.

Burying his face in his hands, Wilson tried to fight against the tears threatening to spill over again. Tears were rolling down his cheeks and he was so absorbed in his own anguish that he jumped when House grabbed his hands and moved them. House cupped Wilson's face in his hands and placed a gentle kiss on quivering lips. A nurse chose exactly this moment to announce that it was time for the CT-scan.

Both men stayed in this close position, resting their foreheads together, trying to regain control. Eventually Wilson disentangled himself from House, still hoping for a miracle to happen. He helped the nurses to loosen the brakes of the hospital-bed when House made the mistake of grabbing for his glass of water. His movement was clumsy and the glass shattered in pieces. Wilson started at the sound of the breaking glass; his eyes widened when he discovered that House had cut himself deeply with a piece of glass. Blood was flowing from House's hand, causing Wilson's gut to coil up even more. For someone with an acute liver failure even a minor cut can cause severe bleeding as the liver can't produce sufficient amounts of substances that help the blood to clot. Wilson listed all these facts in his head while his body was on autopilot. His hands were shaking as he tried to stop the bleeding.

The bleeding didn't stop and Wilson wanted to scream at a God he didn't believe in anymore, demanding an answer to the question, "Why House?"

Nurses and other doctors bustled around them but nothing worked, no medicament and the blood transfusion was only a drop in the bucket. House was lying limply on the bed, his face now looking ashen which was a stark contrast to his yellow eyes. Wilson swallowed hard, sensing new tears beginning to rise up. His own hands were covered with House's blood and he was still pressing at the cut. His fingers were hurting but stubbornly he gripped harder. The bleeding _had_ to stop! The compression bandages didn't have the desired result so they switched back to manual compression.

Wilson saw that House's eyelids were becoming heavier and heavier with every passing minute. Fear changed to panic at seeing House slipping away from the living. "H-House? Stay awake, okay?"

House pried his eyes open with obvious effort. He was so unbelievably tired! This wasn't a good sign, he knew that much. Yet, he was relieved that he wasn't as frightened as before. He didn't feel any pain – at all. That was something he wanted for such a long time that it didn't register with him right away. It was a challenge to form words but somehow House managed, "Ridiculous that a cut in my hand will cause me to bleed to death, huh?"

Wilson gasped at House's comment but put even more pressure on his hand. Not only were his hands now trembling from exertion but also the rest of his body. He wanted to crawl onto the bed, curl around House and be as close to him as humanly possible but instead he tried to will the blood to clot. He was staring at all the blood, their joined hands, feeling himself crushed down by the terrific thought of losing House.

"Hey," House whispered while tugging with his unharmed hand at Wilson's sleeve. "Put a compression bandage on."

"That doesn't work," Wilson countered. His voice sounded weird – high, desperate, forlorn.

"Wilson, _please_!" The raw need in House's voice shocked Wilson. Out of red-rimmed eyes he stared at his lover, knowing very well that House wanted to say goodbye to him. In addition to the trembles his body was now shaking visibly; his teeth chattered violently due to the icy cold taking possession of every tiny part of his body. A nurse loosened his grip around House's hand while another one guided him around House's bed. When the compression bandage was wrapped around his hand House told the nurses and doctors to leave the room. They didn't comply at first which coerced House into mustering up the rest of his remaining strength, yelling at them to get the hell out of the room.

Hesitantly they followed House's demand, clearly not comfortable with the whole situation. House tugged again at Wilson's sleeve as soon as they were alone. "Get on the bed," he suggested.

House turned on his left side and Wilson crawled onto the bed, stretching out on his right side so that he was facing House. Desperately he tried to keep himself together, to not burst into tears again, to somehow get enough oxygen in his lungs, to not babble about how scared he was. Suddenly anger got the better of him – again. "We should go to the CT and try something else to get the bleeding under control! Why are you so cool? Do you want to d- ?"

He was cut off by a snarled, "Stop it!" House's eyes were blazing and the bleeding hand came to a rest on Wilson's cheek. House took in a deep breath whereas Wilson fought hard against the tears. Gently House stroked his thumb along Wilson's cheekbone and said softly, "I don't want to die. Believe me! But … I'm realistic. I'll be sliding into unconsciousness soon and I don't want to leave with us fighting."

"Aren't … aren't you scared? And why won't you try another treatment? _Please_, don't give up, we -"

Wilson couldn't end his sentence because he was choking on his own sobs. House sighed, dropped a light kiss on Wilson's forehead before he said, "James, this isn't me being stubborn. Do you honestly think I'd want to die when there could be a possibility of living and have sex with you?"

Wilson gave a startled chuckle but was relieved at seeing a small smile tugging at the corners of House's mouth. House admitted, "I don't feel any pain and I just know that this is the end. Will you stay with me?" The raw need mirrored in House's eyes, caused Wilson to tear up again – especially when House added, "I'm so cold. Hold me?"

Wilson couldn't suppress a wail escaping his mouth. Nonetheless he helped House to pillow his head on Wilson's chest. Wilson pulled up the comforter over House's frame and hugged him tightly. They laid like this for some time, both men shivering heavily. House listened to Wilson's rapid heartbeat, then remembered that he had to make sure of something. "James?" he slurred.

"Yes?"

"In the bottom drawer of my nightstand is a black box. You need to open the box when you get home, okay?"

"Um, okay. What -"

"I won't tell you what's in it." House's voice was fading, sounding weaker with every second. Wilson could barely hear House mumbling, "I want to kiss you."

Wilson had to help House to lift up his head, the angle was awkward but the kiss was the best kiss he ever gave or received. Pliant lips pressed against each other; again and again. Wilson heard himself whimpering but suddenly the lips were gone and he stared at House wide-eyed. He began to hiccup when he discovered that House's eyes were brimming with tears. "Oh God," Wilson sobbed, "I love you. I love you so much."

Some single tears leaked out of House's eyes as he responded in a raspy voice, "Same here. I'll be waiting for you in the afterlife." House kissed Wilson one last time, then rested his head again on Wilson's chest, right above his heart. House's eyes drifted shut and a few labored breathes later his body gave up the fight and relented to the inevitable.

Wilson felt House's body go slack above him and reacted with a tight clutch around House's upper torso. He didn't know for how long he wept, sobbed, cursed and begged House to wake up again. His voice was hoarse by the time Cuddy came in and softly talked to him. It took her a while to coerce him into loosening his grip around House and finally get him out of bed. Someone steadied him as his legs threatened to buckle while his whole body shook. He stared at his blood covered hands, trying to understand why there was so much blood on them. He brought his hands up in front of his face when the stench of dried blood reached his nose, causing him to retch and puke all over the floor.

Someone washed his face with a damp washcloth and then guided him over to a basin, scrubbing the blood from his hands. Wilson watched the red water twirling before it vanished into the drain. He didn't realize that the ragged breathing he heard was his own and he also didn't feel the tears streaming down his face, dripping from his chin into the basin.

Finally his hands were clean and he discovered that the someone who had washed his hands was Cameron. Again she took the washcloth and gently wiped the tears on his cheeks away. "Do you want me to call someone for you?" she asked.

Wilson shook his head. His throat was constricted; his heart seemed to be sliced open by a long and sharp knife, twisting deeper and deeper. He couldn't speak let alone think or feel anything. He felt completely detached as he watched the nurse laying a blanket over House, covering his face. His legs gave out from under him and he slid to the floor with a wail. Wilson's legs were tucked up, his arms curled around his knees as he rolled himself up into the smallest package he could manage. He cried and cried until he thought there couldn't possibly be more tears hidden in him. When he looked up from his position on his floor he saw Cameron dumping a needle. He frowned and angrily glared at her when she rolled down the sleeve of his shirt.

"I do not need a sedative! How dare you give me a shot without asking my permission!" he hissed at her.

Cameron just looked at him sadly but not the least bit apologetic. "Dr. Cuddy said she's going to admit you to suicide-watch if you don't calm down within the next thirty minutes. I figured you'd rather like to get home."

Wilson gawked at her, licked his lips and carded his hands through his hair, tousling it in the process. He was the effigy of hurt and loneliness, looking like a little boy, waiting for his parents to chase the bad dream off. Wordlessly Cameron handed him a handkerchief and offered, "I could drive you home."

Wilson nodded his approval and she helped him up from the floor. The effect of the sedative was kicking in. On wobbly legs Wilson made his way to the parking lot, supported by Cameron who had a tight grip around his waist as they walked. Cuddy wasn't happy with Wilson leaving the hospital in this state. She wanted to make sure that someone was staying with Wilson but Wilson was collected and told her that he'd need some time alone. Yet, Cuddy insisted on checking on him later. Wilson wasn't keen on that but wisely kept his mouth shut. The only thing he was interested in now was to find the black box House had mentioned earlier.

Wilson was grateful for Cameron's silence during the ride home. He was even more grateful when instead of offering him platitudes she simply hugged him and left. He almost toppled down on his hasty way to the bedroom, deliberately excluding all thoughts of House never sharing their bed with him again. He fell to his knees in front of House's nightstand and with trembling fingers rummaged through the drawer. He retrieved a small black box and cradled it to his chest, struggling to keep up his composure.

Warily he opened the lid and found an envelope with his name scribbled on it lying on top. He ripped the envelope open and read:

_James!_

_If you read this I'm dead. Probably due to my liver._

_I don't know if we've had time to say goodbye but_

_in case we haven't – I didn't want to die and leave_

_you alone._

_Geez, this is going to sound mushy and not like_

_it's coming from me but I want to make sure_

_you know that I love you and trust you with_

_all my heart._

_I'll be waiting for you so don't screw every single_

_nurse that crosses your path or I might have to _

_give you a good spanking when we meet again!_

_To bridge the time till we see each other again ,_

_I left you some pictures and some DVD's._

_Gosh, it's a good thing I'm already dead because_

_this is somewhat embarrassing! Okay, maybe not._

_Watch them and don't cry too much – puffy eyes_

_don't suit you._

_One last mushy line:_

_I always knew you were the one for me and I_

_love that I got to spend most of my life with you._

_Greg_

The letter fell from Wilson's trembling hand and fluttered to the floor. Wilson pressed the heels of his palms against his closed eyes in a wasted attempt at keeping the tears in. He heard House's voice rumbling in the back of his head about giving up the struggle and get the fuck off from the floor to start skimming through the other items of the box. Wilson chortled, put his hands down and then started to pull out pictures. There were pictures he had never seen before, even one where they were kissing. He remembered the event and how his face had flushed. He would do anything to be embarrassed again by some action of House.

He looked at every picture which took him about an hour. He laughed, cried and sobbed – sometimes he was even doing all three at once. His eyes were burning, his face felt swollen overall and he still had trouble with breathing freely. He was pressing a hand over his heart, fearing it might leap out of his chest. More tears were escaping his eyes as he babbled to himself, keening about his loss.

His heart still raced and felt like someone decided that if the slicing pain wasn't enough he could add a bit pressure to it. His heart was getting squashed between the hands of a giant, making it impossible to not groan in pain and terror. Somehow one of his hands clamped around one of the DVD's and Wilson eyed it suspiciously. After a moment of contemplation he hauled himself up. He was wavering and outstretching his arms for balance before he slowly made his way to his computer.

He swallowed hard when he inserted the disc and anxiously stared at the screen. He had to squeeze his eyes shut as soon as House's face filled out the screen, blue sparkling eyes directed at him. Wilson jumped when House demanded, "James, look at the screen."

Wilson's lower lip was quivering but he complied with great effort. House just stared at him while Wilson bent forward and touched the screen with his fingertips. A high-pitched whimper escaped him as he realized that he couldn't touch House and would never be able to do so again. His other hand covered his mouth in a useless attempt to stifle new sobs and whimpers. His whole body was shaking again and he had to use both hands to grip the armrests of his chair because it was rattling so hard that he feared he might tip it over. He didn't hear the first words House spoke and when he finally listened he felt his breathing constricting even more. He couldn't bear to hear House's voice but he couldn't bear to not listen to him either. Transfixed he watched and listened, wondering when House had recorded the disc.

"Hey, if you ever have an emergency like being horny as hell and wanting to jerk off you can use the disks in the red cover," House quipped and winked from the screen.

Wilson eyed the red disks, then inserted one of them. At first he could only hear moans and grunts. He rolled his eyes – that was so House-like to provide him with porn! A few seconds later he was staring and gawking at the scene on display. He was watching himself writhing beneath House, urging him on, begging him for release and shuddering in pleasure. If it wasn't for the sedative and his emotions being all over the place he would surely be jacking off right now.

Wilson knew that he couldn't have House back on a rational level but that knowledge didn't help to ease his grief. Instead he indulged himself in watching every disc House had made for him. He soaked up every tiny detail like how House's eyes twinkled, how his dimples showed when he smiled, how affectionate he looked at Wilson during their sexual encounters, how he worshipped Wilson's body. All that caused Wilson to feel more forlorn than he'd ever felt in his entire life before.

After hours of watching the discs Wilson's body overruled his will. He laid his arms crossed on the desk and pillowed his head on his arms, deciding that he was just going to shut his eyes for a short moment while listening to House's voice.

Wilson could swear that House was calling his name. Irritated he looked around and found himself standing on the lawn in the backyard. A big frown appeared on his face because he couldn't remember having walked out. His head snapped up and swiveled around as House called his name again.

"James! Come on! Get over here!"

Slowly Wilson turned around. At seeing House leaning against a tree he closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over them. A mischievous smile appeared on House's face as Wilson took the first steps in his direction very cautiously, quickly turning into a run until he was standing right in front of House. With a hoarse sob he flung his arms around House's neck and pressed himself against his lover. House hugged him tightly, in between patting him on the back and speaking soothing words.

Wilson squeaked in surprise when House whirled them around on the spot, grinning and looking utterly content. He stared at House's face in bewilderment, then allowed his gaze to travel down to House's thigh. There was no cane to be seen either. New tears formed in his eyes when he took a step backwards and stammered, "This … this is not real. Oh please, I can't stand this!"

House followed Wilson who tried to back off more. Suddenly House lunged for Wilson's wrists and tugged at them. Wilson all but fell against House's chest. How could House's body feel _that_ real? That was impossible!

House's grip wandered from Wilson's wrists to his upper body, holding him in a fierce hug. Wilson shivered in need; he wanted to believe that he _really_ was in House's arms, that this wasn't some kind of hallucination.

"Do you happen to know how pathetic it is to die from a broken heart?" House asked him, leaving Wilson utterly confused. House loosened his grip a tad to give Wilson space so he could look at him. Puzzled brown eyes searched for an explanation on House's face but didn't find one.

House sighed, "Okay, you're obviously too stressed to figure it out on your own. Welcome to the afterlife! I thought I'd have to wait much longer for you but you proved me right. You can't go a day without me!"

Wilson gawked at him when House turned him around and pointed to something in the house. Wilson's eyes widened when he saw his own body slumped down on the desk. "This … this …," he trailed off since he didn't know what to say anyway. Finally he turned around, disbelief written all over his face. He opened his mouth and shut it, then tried again. He couldn't quite believe that his voice sounded this desperate and needy, when he pleaded, "Don't leave me ever again!"

House's face softened before he replied sincerely, "Don't worry; you're stuck with me forevermore!" He paused shortly, then a smirk settled on his face. "Did you notice my leg? No pain anymore! There are thousands of new possibilities for having sex now!"

Wilson tittered lightly, "Isn't this … some kind of a transcendental state here?"

"It's as real as you want it to be," House quipped. As House looked into glazed and confused brown eyes he sobered up. Now wasn't the time to goof around. Although he felt uncomfortable he said in a soft voice, "Think about all the things we can do now. We could go hiking or … or dancing. You always loved to dance."

Wilson blinked, then gazed at House intensely. He couldn't find anything other than honesty in House's eyes. Dry-mouthed he croaked, "You … you don't like hiking. You like dancing even less."

House pulled him into a tight embrace again and petted Wilson's hair. "Even if I don't like it, I'll give it a try."

"Because _I_ like it?" Wilson asked incredulously. "That's, um, very considerate of you."

Wilson could feel House's chuckle rumbling in his chest. He still didn't know if he was just having a weird dream but he _did_ know that he wanted nothing more than to be held by House and feel loved.

"Well, I don't have the excuse of being in pain anymore if I don't treat you the way you deserve to be treated." House made a short pause for emphasis before he added, "You deserve that I show you how much mean to me. How … how much I love you."

Wilson clutched even more tightly at House. He wasn't able to suppress a hiccup as he stammered, "I might … need time to adjust to … this side of you." Hastily he continued, "Though I don't mind. I'll try to do the same."

"You already did. You didn't make me wait for years here, where I would only be able to see you but couldn't touch or talk with you," House replied in a hoarse voice. Wordlessly House tilted his head while tipping Wilson's chin up. His lips met the pliant lips of his lover, allowing him access to more than just his mouth.

END

10


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